


The Distance Between Us

by loveoverpride



Category: Olitz - Fandom, Scandal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Vanity Fair party, awards after party, oscar night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10000556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveoverpride/pseuds/loveoverpride
Summary: Olivia and Fitz attend the Oscars After Party. But it's not what you think.An one-shot.





	

I didn’t go to the ceremony this year, but as always I get an invite to the Vanity Fair party. My team worked hard to find the perfect dress for tonight.  Even when you’re not nominated, you have to present yourself as a starlet. That’s my plan for every year. I want people to notice me. Being nominated and having a consistent presence in the industry is great, but I need to be there. All the time. 

As I step out of the car, he takes my hand, and we greet the photographers. The line is long and we wait. When they gesture for me, I find my marks, turning just slightly to capture my angles and curves. The copper in my dress shines as the flashes go off.

When I wave and mouth “thank you,” my date and I walk inside the luxurious room, surrounded by executives, fellow actors, and entertainers. The lighting is muted, but the ambiance is full of life.

A gallery of who-who’s. I'm elated that I'm in the room where everything happens.

Several parties were occurring during the ceremony, but I chose to just attend this one. I think he was party hopping, but who knows. It’s best if I don’t know.  

Among the sea of people, I look for him. It doesn’t matter where I am. My heart beats faster. The nerves collect in my gut and I try to separate myself. It's like I'm in a trance.

My clutch vibrates against my hand.

“Olivia!”

“Hi there,” I greet, hoping my look of surprise doesn’t throw them off. It’s only some friends I’ve made over the years. They come over and we catch up, sharing pictures. Taking a few for instagram.

And then, I catch his eye. My gaze lifted and I found him. Confident as ever. Fitzgerald Grant III, the award-winning actor. Surrounded by other winners and low-key fans of his work. I remain poised, twisting my lips slightly. I want to show that I'm unfazed by his fame. It’s just another person at another gathering. So many millionaires and celebrities are in this room.

But seeing him wink and give a crooked smile - that’s only for me- leaves me breathless. I almost come undone.

We are sixty feet away from each other, separated by numerous bodies. So many obstacles. And there's the cameras. 

The cameras always know.

Someone will know. You have to do so much to convince them to keep their mouths shut. Not to share a tender moment on social media. I can never risk this. Not here. Not now. 

So I fling my hair and turn away.

We have a special language. He is more demonstrative. I keep my cool. A quick ear tug or smile is all I put forth. But he knows, I'm paying attention.

An hour has passed. We have made the first round of conversations. I sit down on one of the plush ottomans. Since there is a lull, I take a sip of water.  I check my phone.

Two texts, five minutes apart.

_Hi._

_Come to the bar._

“I’m going to get a drink. Do you want anything,” I ask my date. He declines, while smiling. I nod and weave through the crowd. I try to saunter to the bar the text mentions, but my arrival is delayed. I keep getting distracted.

“Nice party, huh?”

“Always.”

He’s leaning in, charming whoever was nearby. Sometimes - no, all the time - I get possessive when I see him flirt with another woman. I shouldn't be jealous, but since we made an agreement to not fawn over each other in public, I stew.

“I’ll have a bourbon,” he requests.

I remain still, focusing on the new shade my friend painted on my fingertips this afternoon. I can't make eye contact.  He tells me they always give myself away. I count in my head. His presence overtakes me, swiftly moving behind me at this makeshift bar. His lips barely touch my ear when he whispers, catching me by surprise. Placing a glass in front of me.

“For you, my sweet baby.”

I graciously accept.

“You look like a vision."

“Thank you,” I curtly reply.

“I’ll catch you later. Twenty minutes?”

I quickly shake my head. “I can’t. Photoshoot.”

He hums, then acknowledges another friend, who slapped him on the back. I swing the chair around to see what was going on behind me. Still keeping a sharp eye on my surroundings. He leans into me again.

“Remember that hallway where we made love last year?”

My fingers brace the cold glass. Before I let his thoughts chill me to the bone, I rise and firmly declare. “I have to go.”

His face lights up. “Just text me.”

His voice booms when associates call out to him. I stand in awe and anger. He just plays so cute and effortlessly walks away from me. I ponder and scheme about how I can disappear.  I’m wearing this long copper dress, with a plunging neckline, and my back is exposed. No one else is wearing what I have, so it may be harder to slip away and not be noticed.

But I continue to brainstorm.  

I look back to where I was standing. My date doesn’t care where I go. As long as we meet at the car exactly when I said I’d show up. It’s all for show. Edison is a good man. He plays his part very well. My agent suggested I find someone to join me during tours and red carpets. It's annoying but it's an easy route. I look back and see that he’s schmoozing with someone. I don’t know who the person is. I only see these people at after-show parties.

It was now or never. I tap a response - _I’m coming._

I take my clutch, making myself look less suspicious, as I find an exit.

“Hey, Liv!”

I turn and wave at the new group, who apparently know me well enough to call me by my nickname.  “Hi there.”

“How's it going?”

Smiling my best actress smile, I give a roundup of latest events. I check the clock on the wall. “I have to powder my nose before I have to take my pictures. You know how it is. I’ll be right back.”

As my distance from the party is growing, my steps move faster. My heels click loudly against the marble floor.

The volume has dulled. I stop to pull out my phone.

Another text message has been received.

_The door at the end of the hall leads to the back. See you soon._

I roll my eyes. He always has a plan and I thought I was the conniving one. Putting my shoulders back, I approach the door that he mentioned. Counting in my head.

A slight knock and I turn the knob.

It’s a small terrace that overlooks Beverly Hills, with roses.

“Livvie.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

He gives me a knowing look, hands in pockets. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Sorry to ruin your plans,” I slyly comment.

He shakes his head, marching towards me. And just like that, he crushes my mouth, his thumbs rubbing my jaw. I wrap my arms around him.

I crave his touch, his kisses. They seem to be far and in between.

“My God, I’ve missed you.”

“Me too,” I moan. Then, I come back to real life and pull away. “We don’t have long.”

“That’s fine,” he assures. “I just...need to talk and see you.”

I catch his tongue swipe his lips. His eyes are ogling my chest. I knew he’d appreciate my dress.

“It kills me that I can’t walk with you. Show everyone.”

He tends to say this every time. It used to be a killjoy but I have now come to the realization that this bugs him and I have to deal with the pain I've inflicted. 

“One day,” I sigh.

The cool air hits my back. His embrace warm me up.

I take the opportunity to capture his lips again. Our kisses appear to be rushed, but I control them. Making them last as long as possible.

There is a long slit in the front of my dress and he uses this fashion detail to his advantage. His longer fingers dip past my dress and cup me. Teasing me.

“Fiiittttzzz,” I moan.

He continues to rub. Using the fabric of my panties, to create friction. Hitting my clit. My mouth opens, immediately affected by this touch. In a rush of desire, I lift my left leg, pulling his ass closer.

We’re outside. Drivers could probably see us. Everything about this is wrong. But I didn't care.

He tells me that he loves me. I nearly cum, when my phone buzzes again and he groans.

“Are you kidding me?”

“I had to start a timer,” I lazily answer, placing my leg down. Still in a lovedrunk stupor.  “And you know, there’s that shoot I have to do.”

“Damn.”

I smooth my hair. “Text your date.”

He sucks his teeth. “Back to this business speak.”

“It’s not my fault.”

“It kind of is,” he adjusts himself. “You’re a control freak.”

“I have to put my career first. For a little while longer,” I sharply reply. I know that's all it takes for him to flinch and step back. I hurt him so much. So I take a breath, and place my hands on his chest. “I’m sorry. You rile me up so much.”

I kiss his jaw. “I'm sorry.”

Fitz rubs his hand against my back again, and eventually his fingertips drum my skin. It feels so good. In a low and husky voice, he asks, “What are you doing later?”

“You,” I quickly respond. He laughs.

“Miss Pope, you are always full of surprises.”

I lift my eyebrows, “Thank you. I’m never out of options.”

We look up - the sky has gotten darker. Fifteen minutes have gone by and we've been able to close the distance between us. It's been weeks since we’ve had a true moment alone. Traveling, interviews, avoiding the tabloids. It's a full-time job to keep a relationship secret. He hates it so much, but is willing to humor me time and time again. We treasure this hidden getaways. Hopefully our quick engagements satisfy the hunger for now.

I open my clutch and find the lipstick. “One of my assistants will be meeting me.”

Right on cue, Quinn enters.

“Liv, they’re ready.”

I smile. I know I can't touch him anymore. Not in front of her. So I just look at him while Quinn combs her fingers through my hair and adjusts any visible flaws that would immediately confirm any suspicions about my absence. He gives me a melancholy smile. 

“See you, Fitz,” she calls out.

We leave him standing there. Quinn and I have an understanding that we don't talk about what I do in my down time. But I know that she knows. I trust her. 

I try to bring my emotions down as we return; I hate leaving him behind. 

The staff leads us to the spare room where the photographer is set up.

“Miss Pope, thank you for coming.”

I hand Quinn my clutch, and stand where he wants me. I begin to pose, getting encouragement from the photographer, smiling, tilting my head, sticking my ass out a little. Leaning against the wall. Whatever needs to be done to get the picture shot.

As I look up, I almost gasp.

He is standing in the back. Arms crossed. I slowly blink and continue what I was doing. The session takes about ten minutes. I try to not get distracted but he makes it incredibly hard. Whenever I laugh, he laughs. He moves when I shift. He sighs when he hears the compliments. No one has kicked him out. Perhaps he struck a deal with them.

I strut to the computer and review the shots. They always make me look fantastic. I prefer editorials; I feel so glamorous. 

“This is awesome.”

“Thank you, Olivia!”

I give the photographer a kiss on the cheek.

He walks towards me. I raise my eyebrow, now annoyed that he has invaded my space. Breaking our pact yet again.

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” he echoes my irritated tone. “I had to. I’m leaving soon. My place or yours?”

“Mine,” I tell him quietly. We walk to the door. I take another glance, seeing that no one is watching. Thankfully, they're all focused on the next actor. I pucker and he lowers his head to give me another kiss. “See you in a bit," I speak against his delicious lips. 

I take a breath and open the door. I turn to the left and he goes to the right.

That's the routine. It's second nature to me. A year and it still hasn't been the right time. Others do it as well. They probably accomplish this feat better.  I feel like we have to do more to keep this under wraps.

But that’s the way of the world. My world. Which now involves him.


End file.
